


The Five Times Scully Nearly Kissed Mulder, And The One Time She Hit The Mark

by Minuete



Series: Random Drabble [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s03e20 Jose Chung's From Outer Space, Episode: s04e20 Small Potatoes, Episode: s05e01-02 Redux, Episode: s06e01 The Beginning, Episode: s08e13 Per Manum, F/M, Post-Episode: s07e17 All Things, Post-Movie: The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998), post-episode: s01ep21 Tooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuete/pseuds/Minuete
Summary: The chapter title describes it best. A long ago WIP that I finally completed.





	The Five Times Scully Nearly Kissed Mulder, And The One Time She Hit The Mark

The first time it happened was during another stakeout a couple of weeks after the Tooms case.  Their assistance was a last-minute relief for another pair of FBI agents during the graveyard shift. 

“Lucky us,” Mulder drawled. He settled himself deeper into the driver seat cushion, scooting the seat back slightly to stretch out his lean form.  They sat in companionable silence, for the time being, knowing they had the next 8 hours ahead of them. 

Scully only had a couple of hours sleep in-between leaving the office to Mulder picking her up for the stakeout.  She stifled a yawn after an hour as she pulled out a thermos filled with home-brewed coffee.  She opened the cap and took a sip feeling the warmth travel down her throat. 

“Did you bring enough to share?” he asked breaking the silence.  Scully nodded and was about to pour some into the cap, but he shook his head. 

“No need for that, Scully.” He reached, grabbed the thermos from her hand, and took a swig from the same side of the opening.  Scully flushed at the intimacy of them sharing a flask. She admonished herself for her adolescent, schoolgirl notion that they’d just shared an indirect kiss.  She cleared her throat as she looked away towards the apartment unit they were surveying battling with her conflicting thoughts.  

Mulder nudged her arm with the thermos after a couple of breaths. 

“Earth to Scully,” he said, “You okay over there?”  Scully looked over at him unconsciously licking her upper lip as she did so. 

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she murmured.  His puzzled face told her that he didn’t believe her, but let it rest.  

 

The second time it happened was after her fourth glass of wine compared to Eddie-turned-Mulder’s one.  She will attribute this transgression to her lowered defenses against Eddie Van Blundht’s duplicity as he encouraged her to talk more about herself while he filled up her wine glass.  They were a hair’s breadth away, almost brushing lips on her couch until she heard a loud pounding at her door to see a disheveled Mulder. Mortified didn’t quite fully capture what she felt after Mulder cuffed Eddie on her couch.  She couldn’t say that she wished she ’d disappear because the tumor will take care of that situation soon.  Suddenly feeling sick, she retreated to her bathroom, and dry heaved over her toilet.   

Scully couldn’t look at him in the eye for a couple of days without recalling that evening.  Mulder kept an arm’s distance away, aware of the awkwardness that settled between them. When things became slightly normal in the office, Eddie requested to speak to Mulder alone. She watched the interlude play out in the black-and-white screen hearing Eddie’s leering question about her and Mulder’s firm deflection. 

“‘…live a little. You know I would,” Eddie finished speaking.  She turned toward the buzzed door and saw Mulder storming out in a sour mood.  She chewed on her lip debating whether to say anything to him. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Mulder, but you’re not a loser.”  She swallowed hard as she continued walking in step beside him. 

“Yeah, but I’m no Eddie Van Blundht either. Am I?” he responded as he was fiddling with his suit sleeves.   

“Mulder, just drop it,” she sighed hating the flush creeping up to her cheeks. 

 

The third time it happened was when Mulder came to visit her on her deathbed.  He was talking in circles, but his decision was clear: he will face prosecution, and he refuses to name her the shooter.  Damn him and his righteousness!  She didn’t know if she would see him again once he walked out that door. As Father McCoy stood by the hospital room door, Mulder leaned in to kiss her cheek, a gesture of his affection during her last days here on Earth. She abruptly moved her head towards him wanting to continue to protest, to rage at the injustice. His lips met the corner of her mouth, stilling her thoughts. His name lost at the back of her throat from surprise as she slightly gasped. She looked up at him and notice a tight smile on his face and his green eyes taking in her gaunt features before he stood up from her bed.  She grasped his hand tightly willing herself not to cry before letting him meet his fate.  

 

The fourth time it nearly happened Scully rationalized it was due to emotional duress upon her decision to quit the bureau.  She recalled walking out of Mulder’s apartment determined to maintain her stride to the elevator, but Mulder doggedly followed her. Scully remembered hearing the desperate tone in his voice as the words she never heard him say to her flowed out of him as if his life depended on it.   

“I don't know if I wanna do this alone... I don't even know if I can ... and if I quit now, they win,” Mulder admitted. 

She recalled that she hugged him and planted a kiss on his forehead, meaning to impart her strength and conviction in him— except that Mulder seemed to want more.  Confusion warred with desire but ended in a sharp pain behind her neck followed by an apology and her eventual blackout.  

Did the hallway scene during the summer happen, Scully wondered in the present moment.  Mulder left her standing surprised by his 180-degree turn with his statement, “I’m sorry, Scully, but this time your science is wrong.” 

 

The fifth time it happened, Scully was grieving for a child—  _their_  child— that will never be.  She never felt so empty as she did now as Mulder gently gripped her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead before leaning his upon it.   

“Never give up on a miracle,” Mulder said. Leave it to Mulder to be the believer in miracles, she thought glumly. Their breaths mingled as they shared the physical space, Mulder mirroring her inhalation and exhalation.  He was grounding her when all she felt lost, weightless.  Another wave of sadness washed over Scully as she reached up and blindly kissed Mulder, planting one at the corner of his lips before resting her head upon his shoulder again.  They stayed that way for what felt like an eternity until she withdrew from Mulder’s embrace, murmured that she will be alright, and saw him out.  He turned and looked down at her again under the doorway.  She stared back at him allowing a tear to fall.  Mulder reached out his right hand and brushed the offending tear away with his thumb.  He cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her forehead again.  

“I’ll be alright,” she replied, “I’ll be fine.” Scully peeled his hand away from her cheek and squeezed his fingers in reassurance.  He bit his lower lip,  gave her a tiny nod, and left. 

 

Scully blinked away her grogginess as she took in her surroundings: the illuminated, gurgling fish tank casting a bluish hue not quite reaching the black leather couch, the shadows cast by the soft, warm glow from Mulder’s bedroom, and the scratchy Navajo afghan resting on her slender frame.  She stood up and neatly folded the blanket before setting it down on the couch.  She quietly padded to Mulder’s bedroom half-expecting to see him asleep due to jet lag, but instead see him fully awake sitting atop his bedcovers, pillows behind his back propping him up against the headboard.   During Scully’s repose, Mulder had changed into his loungewear attire: a well-worn Knicks t-shirt and light gray lounge pants. She was surprised to see him reading  Jose Chung’s From Outer Space. 

“I thought you said you hated Jose Chung’s works,” she remarked.  Scully remained under the doorframe as she leaned against it bearing her weight on her left upper arm and shoulder.  Mulder shrugged as he bookmarked his place and set the book on his nightstand.  

“I found this title at one of the stands in the airport, and needed something to read on the return flight.” 

“What do you think of it so far?”  

“That Agent Muldrake sounds like a total asshole, and he’s one lucky bastard that Agent Lesky puts up with this crap going on in the book.”  Scully chuckled. 

“Chung didn’t flesh out Muldrake in a positive light, but he did capture Muldrake’s desire to learn the truth in all things.”  

“I don’t think I’m at that part yet in the novel to see this.”  Scully entered Mulder’s room heading to his nightstand.  She picked up the book and flipped it to the part where Muldrake had rehypnotization requested for the victim.  Mulder swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor.  She stepped into the v of Mulder’s legs and handed him the book to read.  Mulder tossed the book behind his shoulder instead. “I don’t think the truth Muldrake seeks is in the book, Scully.” 

“No. Chung wrote that the truth to the existence of extraterrestrial life remains elusive.  That there are folks, who will always be looking up at the skies, hoping to be proven right.  

“But?” 

They were nearly eye level when Scully looked at him, making out his darkened hazel eyes, taking in his curious expression.  He must be wondering where she was taking this conversation.  It certainly wasn’t how she imagined it in her head, the book sidetracking her from the discussion she wanted to continue on the couch before she fell asleep. 

“But then there are others who don’t care about the existence of aliens, looking instead to find meaning in human connections.” 

She rested her hands on Mulder’s shoulders; he reciprocated her gesture by resting his hands on her hips.  “What I wanted to say, meaning to say, is that I wouldn’t change a day of my life since it led me to you.”  She felt Mulder’s fingers grip her hips more firmly, observed his Adam’s Apple bob up and down as he swallowed, absorbing her words.  

“And,” she continued, “I would like to find out if there is any meaning beyond our work, beyond the mundane 8-to-5 job.”  

“A human connection?” Mulder managed to gravelly ask as he broke eye contact and stared at her lips. She smiled as she leaned in and he followed suit.  

“Specifically, ours,” she answered a hair’s breadth away as she planted a kiss on Mulder’s lips, contrasting the one placed on New Year’s Day. 


End file.
